Nov 3

Everyone woke by eight each and every morning. There were workers on the roof who seemed to take particular care to whack the ceramic roof with a force that made some sure the ceiling would cave in as they walked under it. The building was extremely old and had lately fallen into disrepair after fifty years of abandonment. Tiny ghosts were seen gliding through the corridors and peering into mirrors after students had sued them. The walls were stark white, dry walled to Italian perfection it made a few choice individuals willing to splatter their own bodies across it just to provide a change in scenery. Outside was a world of light that provided a daily and necessary escape to those who felt tension indoors build to such a high pressure that it would push you out the dungeon door and onto the grey cobblestone courtyard.
Ignoring the scaffolding and locked doors within the courtyard she walked through the iron gate onto the busiest motor road and avoided an oncoming bus. Brushing arms with the more mild townspeople she hurried up the street, her boots hitting the ground faster and with more emphasis with each step. There was no destination but that was not a problem in a small town full of unimportant strolls and lingering conversations. The faster she walked the less she felt, finally on the outskirts the wind picked up blowing dust into her face, she allowed it breathing deeply letting the view from off the cliff fill her lungs. She did not go next to the Duomo or another decorated church, she sauntered past them and sat instead at a cafÈ with her back to the piazza.
Stumbling with her limited Italian she ordered a cappuccino and a pastry, the barrista smiled pleasantly back at her. The woman was pure Italian, thick black eyebrows, long brown hair, she rested a hand on a swollen stomach. For all the talk of decreased birth rates this town seemed to be single-handedly making up the difference in numbers. She grabbed the china cup and plate sitting by herself trying to think and quiet a laugh that had begun to build inside of her. The sky- it was like any Renaissance painting- you almost were upset by the lack of cherubim in the sky. Why here in a place of splendor did she sit so absolutely enraged? It would pass. She scraped the foam off the side of the cup, put the spoon to the side and left heading back slowly trying to blend with the crowds filling the main corso for the post repaso walk. Dodged a series of vespas and smart cars and ducking in behind the iron gate she pulled open the dark wood door and closed it with an echoing thud.